


some strings attached

by visiblemarket



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: M/M, it's a pwp what can i say, past chas chandler/renee chandler - Freeform, there is bondage but it's not really about bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 09:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15860820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: “You’ve done this before,” John says. Hopes it sounds more curious than accusatory, but his luck’s never been that good.Chas smiles to himself, threading the ends of John’s tie around each other. John looks up to see him finishing off a deceptively simple knot. “I have?”





	some strings attached

**Author's Note:**

> ~~aka chas has BDE don't @ me~~

"Can tie me up if you’d like,” John says, too loud, in something of a rush.

Not out of embarrassment, but momentarily uncertain: Chas’s always been the simple sort of bloke, with the look of a man who’d be spooked by anything beyond the basic when it comes to sexual appetites.

Chas does blink, and then shakes his head. Smiles a little. “Oh I can, huh?” he says, dry but apparently, thankfully, amused, and sits up.

Reaches down and pulls John’s tie apart. Wraps one end of it around his palm and drags it out from the collar of John’s shirt with one long, steady move, a surprisingly deft maneuver from a man John’s never seen so much as wear a tie, much less remove one.  
Chas's too busy to notice John’s surprise. Tests his tie, for a moment — pulls it taut between his hands — and frowns. John can tell what he’s thinking, and knows he’s right: he's tried this before, gotten some sore, swollen wrists for his troubles. Not that it'd stopped him then; not that it’ll stop him now, frankly, if Chas is willing to go through with it.

Chas looks down at him, and John tries not to let his breath catch, tries not to make it laughably obvious that the potential for what’s about to happen is making his cock strain against his trousers. He shifts, pulling himself slightly higher on the bed, and brings his hands down, offering Chas his wrists.

“Okay,” Chas says, maybe to John, mostly to himself, and drapes the strip of smooth fabric around John’s wrists. Wraps it tight, uses it to pulls John’s hands above his head again, loops it round the bedpost.

“You’ve done this before,” John says. Hopes it sounds more curious than accusatory, but his luck’s never been that good.

Chas smiles to himself, threading the ends of John’s tie around each other. John looks up to see him finishing off a deceptively simple knot. “I have?”

“You have,” John says. “With who?” he finds himself adding, and cringes. He’s not jealous — has no reason to be — but it’s surprising, and John’s only ever had bad luck when it comes to surprises.

Chas drops his gaze. "No one you'd know," he says, vague, distant, automatically suspicious. He's always been a terrible liar.

John's brain, already foggy with arousal, positively whirls with possibilities. He’s hardly an expert in Chas Chandler’s sexual exploits but there’s not a lot of options: Renee, for one doesn’t seem the type. The other way around, maybe, cheap fuzzy handcuffs ‘round Chas’ wrists while she rode him to completion. _Anything to spice up the marital bed, eh?_ he thinks, a little cruel.

Though, he has to admit, it’s one hell of an image.

“What’re you thinking about?” Chas says, and John snaps back into focus, trying to remove the picture of his best mate and his best mate’s wife — his beautiful, blond wife, bouncing up and down on Chas’ cock — from his mind.

“Ridin’ you,” he says, leaning back.

Chas blushes, but drops his head, trying to hide it. “Not like this,” he says, nodding up at John’s hands.

“Next time,” John says, with a confidence he doesn’t feel.

Chas huffs, running his fingers across John’s bound wrists. John strains against them a little, not enough to seem like he’s struggling really, just enough to test their hold. It’s tight, would take some real doing to escape — John sighs, and relaxes, and then Chas kisses him again.

Careful at first, and light — John opens his mouth to him, sucks on his tongue. Spreads his legs, and Chas gets the picture: settles between them, and gets to work, unbuttoning John’s shirt. He’s quick about it, somehow taking the time to kiss down John’s chest anyway. He unbuckles John’s belt, slides his hand down John’s trousers. Strokes carefully at John’s cock, and John squirms, trying to thrust into his grip. Chas chuckles to himself, shaking his head, before using his free hand to push John’s hips down. Strokes at him again, achingly slow, and John tries again, flexing his hips against the intractable pressure of Chas’ warm, broad hand against his stomach.

“Settle down,” says Chas, gentle but firm.

“Make me,” John huffs, as much of a challenge as he can manage, bound and immobile and clearly, pathetically desperate. Chas makes a rumbling, long-suffering sort of sound — between a sigh and a laugh — but John sees him glance up, quick and furtive, eyes dark and lips parted, before he drops his gaze again and goes back to wanking John off. Faster than before, but too light to do anything much for John except drive him mad.

John groans — annoyed, still panting, leaking into Chas’ hand. Chas pulls back, hums vaguely to himself. “What do you want, John?” he says, and looks up again. Seemingly calm now, calm in a way that might seem cold to anyone else, but John knows better: can tell Chas' forcing an implacable expression even as his eyes dart to John’s face and away, even as his fingers press into John’s thighs, unconscious and firmer than Chas probably intends.

John licks his lips. Lets his eyes flutter. “You,” he says, soft, coy, trying to spread his legs again: Chas smiles to himself, and lets go of John’s hips. John groans — bastard, he’s about to say — but Chas looks up at him and shakes his head, and then sits back, gets to work unlacing John’s boots and slipping them off, sliding John’s trousers and boxers down his thighs. John barely has to lift his hips to help him: Chas has him almost entirely naked except for his opened shirt in what feels like seconds.

And then his hand’s round John’s cock again, quick and rough as he mouths enthusiastically at John’s neck and shoulder and sternum. John squirms and thrusts, turning his head as Chas kises up his neck, panting as his cock slips between Chas’ fingers.

“Good?” Chas murmurs, having worked his way up to just beneath John’s ear, as if he can’t feel John trembling against him, rutting desperately into his hand.

John nods, too distracted to speak properly — “Close,” he manages, does is best to focus and clarify: “So bloody close, love, I’m gonna—"

Chas pulls back. Eases his hand out from around John’s cock. “Stay put,” he says, without a hint of a smirk, and rises from the bed.

John blinks. “What?"

“Stay put,” Chas says again. “I’ll be right back."

“The hell would…the hell would I go?” John pants, and Chas — almost at the door, glancing back at him before he reaches it — laughs. Walks back to him. “What are you—“ Chas smiles and pulls the end of the rumpled sheet over John’s body.

“Don’t want you catching cold,” Chas says, and then retreats for good.

“ _Bastard_ ," John hisses, and flops back down on the mattress. The blanket’s light against his cock but that makes it worse somehow, tantalizing friction to rub against but not solid enough for his purposes. Debates rolling over and rubbing off against the mattress — wonders what Chas would do, if he came back to that, to his sheets stained with come, to John on his stomach, loose and sated and still panting. John indulges in the fantasy for a moment — Chas fucking him from behind, rough and quick, a punishment for moving after he was told not to.

But he’s tied too well to manage it, to roll over onto his belly — could unfasten the knot, of course, and might have to eventually, but that’s not the game of the thing quite yet.

He sighs, and tries to relax. Can’t hear Chas’ footsteps, can’t even think what he might be doing, how long he’ll leave John waiting.

Not long, apparently — John could’ve waited longer, frankly, might have enjoyed the anticipation. But when Chas returns it’s with a glass of water in his hands and a determined expression.

“You were _thirsty_?” John says, incredulous.

Chas shrugs. “It’s for later,” he says, putting the glass down on the table beside John’s head. “And that’s not all I got,” he says, drawing the sheets off of John’s body, and easing himself back down onto the bed.

John cranes his neck, trying to meet his eyes. “What else’d you—"

Chas kisses him, deep and thorough, tongue pushing its way into John’s mouth, and he welcomes it. Chas kneels between John’s spread legs and John brings his knees up, wraps his thighs around Chas’ waist. Chas ducks his head — quick, just long enough to let out a quick, nervous laugh — and then kisses John again, committing to it. John moans, hips already jerking up, rubbing his cock against Chas’ still clothed stomach, likely leaking all over Chas’ soft grey shirt.

Chas’s still fully dressed, dark eyed and focused. Runs his hands up John’s thighs, his stomach, his chest — broad hands, cool and wet from the condensation on the glass. Thick fingers, calloused palms, and John arches up, chasing the contact. Chas drops his head, presses his mouth against the side of John’s throat. He trails his fingers along John’s hips, and John chokes. “Please,” he mumbles, fluttering his eyelashes a little — perhaps it’s too much, because Chas looks up at him, wary. But whatever he sees seems to be enough: he wraps his fingers around John’s cock again, gives him a slow, smooth stroke.

John huffs, desperate and impatient, and Chas shakes his head, quickening his pace anyway. John is grateful, arching his back and closing his eyes. Chas kisses the side of his neck, his shoulder, his chest — working his way down, fast and distracted, still stroking quickly at John’s cock. John takes a breath, careful not to squirm, and then opens his eyes. Chas’s made it to about John’s stomach, nosing his way down John’s hip, beard scratching at John’s too-sensitive skin. He can feel himself trembling, can’t do anything to stop it, isn’t sure he would if he could.

Chas looks up at him, and pauses.

John takes another breath, tries to get himself under control. “All right, mate?” he ventures, trying for a smirk. “You—"

“I haven’t done this in a while,” Chas blurts out.

John blinks: the fact that he’s done it at all is another surprise, but John’s not about to let Chas shock him. “How long—how long’s a while?” he manages, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to focus on anything but Chas’ hand on his cock and the warm puffs of breath brushing against his stomach.

"Just a—just a while,” Chas says. John looks down again — meets Chas’ eyes, just for a moment, before Chas drops his head. Too quick for John to respond, after he slips his lips over the head of John’s cock and slides them down, taking him in, slow but sure.

“ _Ohh_ ,” John sighs, breath catching in the back of his throat as Chas braces his arms against John’s thighs, pressing them flat against the bed, and gives a warm, slow suck. Slides his mouth up again, flickers his tongue almost playfully at the head of John’s cock. John finds himself whimpering, turns his head to muffle it against his arm as best he can.

Chas pulls off and reaches up, cupping John’s chin in his warm, broad hand. “Don’t,” he says, soft and gentle, not a command really, though John’s willing to take it as one. “I want to hear you,” he adds, tone only slightly smug, before he drops his grip on John’s face and goes back to sucking him off. Licking a broad, wet stripe from the root of John’s cock to the tip before guiding it into his mouth again. Doesn’t take it all the way in right away — John’s surprised to find his hesitance more charming than maddening, though truth be told it’s a bit of both.

 _Out of practice, eh?_ John would say, if he were feeling particularly cruel — if it were anyone other than Chas, who he can’t scare away and will have to live with after. He takes a breath instead, sharp and shallow. Tries to relax as Chas builds up to a rhythm. He strains against the tie round his wrists, flexes his hips beneath the weight of Chas’ body. Feels the comforting strength of the knot holding him still, of Chas’ arms against his thighs.

He’s close — painfully hard and panting, leaking into Chas’ mouth already — when Chas pulls back. John’s almost too far gone to do anything about it except whine, low and pitiable. Chas’ hand is back on him almost immediately, giving smooth, generous strokes.

“John,” Chas says, and John glances down, sees his cock sliding in and out of the tight circle of Chas’ hand, and almost comes. Chas’ hand stills, and John swallows, seeks out his eyes — his dark green eyes, intense as before, but softer, too, filled with an unfortunate amount of affection. That sort of look has never ended well, in John’s experience: not for the person giving it, not for John himself.

John can’t quite stop himself from squirming. “Yeah?” he mumbles.

“I’m gonna — I want to—“ Chas drops his gaze for a moment, but it’s less out of embarrassment than of necessity. He’s searching for — and quickly retrieves — a bottle of lube. Waves it, vaguely, and then shrugs. Looks up at John, with a question in his eyes. John nods, more curious than anything. He’s not quite surprised that Chas is shy: Chas’s quiet to begin with, doubly so when it comes to the personal, and for Chas, this is as personal as it gets. But John finds himself fascinated by the hesitance, the uncertainty to Chas’ words even as his hands and mouth make it clear he knows what he's doing, even it’s been a while since he’s done it.

John watches at Chas coats his fingers with lube and presses one in, slow and careful. Arches his back and the second finger follows, quicker than the first, opening him up. Chas’ fingers are blunt and thick, and John moans at the thought of what that might portend for the rest of him.

Chas gives an amused sort of huff, almost as if he knows what John’s thinking, and glances up. “Okay?” Chas says, easing another finger inside of him — John squirms a little, bearing down on. Chas grins and crooks his fingers, and John nearly yelps at the buzz of sensation that jolts through him. “There?” Chas questions, _as if it’s not fucking obvious_ , but John just nods, letting his eyes shut.

Groans, as Chas takes him into his mouth again, tongue flickering at the slit, and rubs his fingers against John’s prostate.

“Gonna come if you keep up like that,” John pants. Chas pulls off.

“Yeah,” he says, and gives the head of John’s cock an almost playful lick. “That’s the plan."

John has to laugh. “Could just fuck me already."

“Want you to come first,” Chas says.

“Ooooh,” John purrs, almost sincerely. “Got ourselves a gentlemen, have we?"

Chas doesn’t answer, by reason of having his mouth full of John’s cock. His lips slide further down this time as he fingers John’s arse, and he swallows, hard, around the head.

John comes with an embarrassingly loud moan, back arching, wrists straining against their restraint, thighs twitching beneath Chas’ weight.

Falls back down against the bed, panting, desperate to catch his breath. Chas eases him through it, sucking at his softening cock, rubbing his hand soothingly against John’s stomach as he trembles.

He pulls off slow, looks up at John almost warily.

“Okay?"

John wants to laugh but doesn’t. Just nods, shutting his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his head. His body’s still buzzing, the almost painful high of his orgasm softening to pleasant, foggy warmth, but he tries.

Chas’ fingers are still inside of him. He bites his tongue to keep from moaning about it, then takes a breath. Opens his eyes.

“How long?” he asks the ceiling.

Chas hesitates. “How long what?"

John looks back down at him, makes sure to meet his eyes. “How long’ve you wanted me?"

Chas blushes, then ducks his head again, sliding his fingers out of John’s arse, and then back inside — three this time, and John almost chokes. “A while."

“Knew it,” says John, who had, at best, only mildly suspected. Grins, preening a little. Arches his back again, encouraging Chas’ explorations. Chas obliges, crooks his fingers again — Christ, it’s a rush, even though he’s spent, even though he’s not likely to come again any time soon. “Knew you thought about this. How’d—how did you picture it?"

“John…” he says, trailing off — shy again, and John decides that he likes that about him. Wonders if he’d keep being charmed by it, were he given a chance.

“Like this?” John says, breathless again. “Me on my back? Tied up? Havin' your way with me?"

Chas shakes his head, just barely, as the tips of his ears flush. John holds back a grin.

“No?” he teases, taking as deep breaths as he can. “From behind, then? Can do that next time, if you’d like. Can tie me up again, keep me — ah, _fuck_ ,“ he groans, as Chas pulls out of him entirely again, leaving him raw and empty and sore.

“Sorry,” Chas says, wrapping his enormous palm almost all the way around John’s thigh to give him an apologetic stroke.

“S’all right,” John says, shifting — bringing his knees up, shifting his hips. Flexing his back, letting his chest rise and fall with still unsteady breaths. Not much of a seduction but enough of one, apparently, for Chas, who swallows hard.

John doesn’t bother to hide his smirk. “Oi,” he says, and Chas looks up at him. “You do want me, then?"

Chas huffs and rolls his eyes, hands dropping to unzip his own trousers. “Never said I didn’t."

“Could’ve—“ John starts, and then stops: Chas’ cock — hard, thicker and longer than John had expected — has slipped from the unfastened fly of his trousers. “Bloody hell,” John manages, weak, and continues to stare: Chas huffs, that familiar, exasperate sound he makes when he thinks John’s being unnecessarily difficult.

“My eyes are up here,” he says, and John snorts, but looks up.

“Gonna fuck me with your eyes?”

Chas rolls said eyes — John’s always liked them, too, green and expressive, terrible at hiding his affection and irritation for John — and shuffles closer on his knees. His cock, already red and beading with precome, bobs against his stomach. John almost chokes.

“Christ,” he can’t help but say, and Chas smirks a little.

Reaches down, gives himself a couple of casual, steady strokes. John watches him, chest rising and falling rapidly, pulse rushing in his ears.

 _Get on with it_ , John means to say, if only to cut the tension. The words get stuck in his throat, come out as a breathy, desperate whine. Chas’ gaze flickers up, meets his again, and he smiles.

“Okay,” he says, and drops his hands to John’s thighs. Rubs his palms up and down along John’s legs, brisk and almost chaste, except that John can still see Chas’ cock, still hard and leaking against Chas’ own stomach. “You’ve suffered enough."

Not nearly — _not at all_ — John thinks, but doesn’t say: he can’t, he’s too drunk on anticipation and a slight, self-preservational shudder of apprehension. He watches, hazily, as Chas retrieves a condom from the pocket of his jeans — must’ve picked that up too, when he stepped out — and takes a long, steadying breath of his own.

He fiddles with the wrapper, hands slippery with lube, big fingers uncharacteristically clumsy. He’s nervous too, John realizes.

Chas glances up. “I uh— haven’t done this part in a while, either,” he says, by way of explanation. His voices waivers. "Renee was—“ he cringes, shakes his head, and then, with finality: “Anyway."

Drops his gaze again, finally rolls the condom onto his thick cock.

The wrong way, and they both seem to notice at the same time: John, giving a breathless, incredulous chuckle, Chas shaking his head and rolling his eyes, apparently at himself. Rolls it off and retrieves another. John looks at the ceiling, and takes a breathe, trying to steady himself as he listens to Chas ready himself.

Feels his own heart pounding as Chas runs his hands up John’s thighs again. Chas grabs at his hips, lifting him up, and John arches his back.

Chas slides into him — slow, steady, eased by the lube and Chas’ patience in preparing him. But it’s still a tight fit: a thick, warm, maddeningly broad intrusion, impossible to ignore.

John almost can’t breath.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he groans, with what little air he can gather, and Chas stills.

“Okay?” Chas mumbles, nuzzling almost drunkly at John’s shoulder. “Too much?"

“Gonna make it smaller if I say yes?” John mutters, and Chas snorts, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

“Could—mm — could pull out."

 _Don’t you fucking dare,_ John doesn’t say — wraps his leg around Chas’ hips instead, pulling him in, keeping him close. “Move,” he does mumble, turning his head as much as he can, and is rewarded with a kiss, long and desperate, getting steadily more sloppy as Chas’ hips begin to move.

Soft, shallow thrusts at first, barely moving inside of John, even as he weakly bears down around him. Chas chuckles and turns his head, changing the angle of the kiss, and reaches down, grabbing John’s hips in both hands.

It’s rougher, now, quick, deep thrusts — Chas’ hands pull John’s hips to meet each one. John shuts his eyes, taking deep, panting breaths, wanting to give in to the feeling of being fucked, of being _used_ , of Chas panting above him, kissing his chest, digging his fingertips into John’s hips and pulling John’s arse down around his cock.

John hears himself whine — he’s hard again, desperate to come, desperate for Chas to touch him. Almost begging for it, but in the end he doesn’t need to: Chas slides his hand up to curl around the back of John’s head. Kisses him, deep and slow, holding him still as he does, and then his other hand to John’s cock, strokes him quick and steady, relentless.

John pants and squirms, turning his head — Chas mouth slides to the side of his neck, kissing him, murmuring into his ear. “C’mon, John,” he says, low and rumbling — John feels it run through him, feels it when Chas groans, gives one last, deep thrust, and comes. John tries to follow, jerking his hips up, rubbing himself shamelessly into Chas’ palm until he gets the picture and gives John another quick, tight stroke.

John comes again, a rush of pleasure, pain, and oversensitivity — shuts his eyes, panting, as Chas kisses his neck and strokes him through it. It’s too much to process; turns his head, trying to catch his breath, trying to pull himself together, but Chas’ mouth is on his and that’s all he can think of, the taste of him, his weight against John’s chest, just how _warm_ he feels. John moans into his mouth and Chas turns his head, kisses him again, deep and thorough.

Pulls out, slow and careful. John tries not to wince — he's sore, knows he’ll be feeling it for days to come. He tries not to smile at the thought.

Chas ease off of him, kneeling between John’s legs. Looks up at him, furtively, then away. Then back again, as if he can’t help himself. John’s still panting, chest rising and falling too fast, but he offers a wink in return. Chas blushes, and smiles back before straightening. Pulls off the condom, and ties it off. Rises to throw it out, and the sudden distance makes John’s skin itch.

Chas returns quickly enough. Peels off his own shirt, uses it to wipe off John’s stomach.

“So bloody gallant,” John murmurs. Chas snorts to himself but continues, cleaning John off as best he can.

Sits back, taking a moment to look at him: soft but focused, eyes raking over John’s sweaty, naked body. John’s not one to feel shame — not for this, anyway — but he finds it unnerving, when it’s Chas: to be not just looked at but seen, in all his flushed, aching, bare vulnerability.

“Gonna leave me like this?” he says, gingerly shifting his hips, straining against the tie round his wrists.

Chas blinks, and shakes his head.

“Like you couldn’t get out of that if you tried."

He’s right, but John pouts, just theatrical enough for Chas to laugh, then nod, and kneel beside him.

“Okay, okay,” he says, untying John’s wrists with thoughtless confidence. Tosses the tie aside, and wraps his own palms around John’s hands. Brings them down, inspects the skin.  Gives a soft, thoughtful hum, rubbing at the swollen pink marks. “Do they hurt?"

“Not as much ’s my arse,” John quips, though it’s not entirely true — he’s a bit sore, all over frankly, but he’s still riding enough of an endorphin wave to not feel the true extent of it yet.

He’s willing to let Chas fuss over him anyway, rolling his eyes at John but rubbing gently at his wrists, massaging feeling into them again. Pushing the glass of water into John's hands and making him drink from it.

John does as he’s told, lets cool water flood his mouth and soothe his throat — hadn’t realized he was thirsty before, but he must’ve been, to feel such swift, almost exhausting relief from a few graceless, gulping mouthfuls.

“You okay there?” says Chas, trying much too hard to hide a smirk as John drains the rest of the glass and sets it back on the bedside table.

John flips him off, thoughtless and automatic, before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Looks over at Chas: the dark-eyed intensity, the clear concern on his face. John reaches out, cups Chas’ face in his hands, and kisses him.

Chas, for his part, seems mostly amused and entirely unsurprised: smiles into his mouth as John’s fingers stroke fondly at his beard and run happily through Chas’ hair. Lets himself be dragged back down onto the mattress. Lies quietly on his side, facing John, as John kisses him almost hungrily, pushing one thigh between Chas’ legs and threading his fingers fitfully through Chas’ hair.

John’s own desperation surprises him — unnerves him, really. To want so much from Chas so fast. To want to stay close to him while the sweat is still cooling on their skin, to tangle their bodies together, arms around each other, before either of them falls asleep. To want him so much, past the sex, past the long, thick cock he still aches from and for. John shivers, involuntary and embarrassing, but Chas wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in. Reaches down, and pulls the blanket up over them both.

“Okay?” Chas says, soft, nuzzling his nose against John’s.

“Fuck off,” says John, weakly, and pulls himself closer still.

 

 

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/177620224256/papisancti-daddy-unloaded) (nsfw but also you're reading this? it's not safe for work either so y'know) and also an article I read about why [dating recently divorced dads is the best.](https://www.thecut.com/2018/05/its-complicated-why-i-only-date-recently-divorced-dads.html)


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